A Day without a Fanfiction Writer
by JellybeanChiChi
Summary: What would happen if the GSR smut-well ran dry? Sara and Grissom fear that might happen so think a trip to a sex therapist might help. Just silly, silly stuff here. But give it a try — for GSR! You might like it.


Disclaimer: I so don't own CSI. And after this, I so won't get invited to a TPTB birthday party.

A/N: OK, this one is different. It warrants an explanation. Some talented writers have written just wonderful stories in which Sara and Grissom get their ya-yas out in style. You know what I'm talking about — the stuff that makes you go "WOW" and head for a cold shower. And I wanted to say "thank you" to those writers. So if you are willing to get through this, you might enjoy a chuckle or two and maybe even recognize some of the stories Sara and Grissom reference.

A/N2: Special, special thanks to VR Trakowski for her beta (yup, her stuff is mentioned). And to CSIGeekFan for reading this as well (of course her stuff is mentioned too). Enjoy!

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A Day without a Fanfiction Writer

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Dr. Philip Beck was seated behind his desk when he was alerted a new couple was here for their first session. He stood up and walked around his desk to greet Sara Sidle and Gilbert Grissom.

"Hello folks. It's good to meet you two," Beck extended a hand to Sara. "May I call you Sara?"

"Yes, that's fine."

Beck smiled before extending his hand to the other man in the room. "And Mr. Grissom. May I call you…"

"Grissom. Just Grissom."

They shook hands strongly. "OK. Very good, Grissom. So you two get comfortable. Have a seat. My name is Philip Beck. I am a licensed sexual therapist practicing in the great state of Nevada. Let's get started. Now, just as an opener, Sara, you and your … should I say 'husband?'"

"Depends who you talk to," Sara said.

"OK. I'm talking to you two," Beck said. "Who else would I be asking?"

Sara and Grissom looked at one another. "Well, the idea has been in limbo for a while. We're not really sure, but… OK. Yeah. You think, babe?"

"I don't see why not," Grissom said.

Beck gave them a pleasant lost look before writing notes on his legal pad. "OK… Seeking counseling for sexual relations is not something to be ashamed of. Rather it is something to be proud of. I must say, Sara, your husband is in his 50s and it's natural to maybe look towards medication to enhance sexual prowess and pleasure."

"Whooooaaa," Grissom said. "We're not here at all for 'performance issues.' I do quite well for myself, thank you very much. There might be issues with my knees …"

"Well," Sara broke in, "there is that one time when we get the little blue pill. Remember? You kept shooting your wad too quick."

"Umm," Grissom stuttered.

"Sure, you remember," Sara said, hitting him on the arm and lightly chuckling. "You're were setting it off when we were making out, when I sucked on your index finger, at a crime scene when I got too close to you. …"

"OK. All right. Yeah, um, I'm not too fond of that story," Grissom said.

"I thought it was cute," Sara retorted.

"So you are taking Viagra or another drug?" Beck asked. "If you aren't I can write a prescription."

Sara jumped in before Grissom could. "No, that's not necessary. That was just one story. Most of the time, he's got no problem whatsoever." Sara began to chuckle. "I mean, they have us doing it at work on conference rooms, closets with bad locks, Gil's office…"

"Ecklie's office," Grissom said with a smile.

"Outside in the rain…" Sara said.

"Behind large trees…"

"In the desert…"

"On top of the Mercedes in the desert," Grissom said, looking dangerously lustful at Sara. "Near the site…"

"Oh, yeah, that was… hot… in so many ways."

"Not to mention the Denali. …"

"Oh, God, the Denali," Sara said. "If they ever took an ALS kit to that vehicle. … You remember that time when we were staking out that guy at the coffee shop? And then you did some mind-blowing … things to me?"

"Waiting to get that cup," Grissom said, stroking Sara's arm and then leisurely bringing his hand to hers, teasing each fingertip. "I think I can still taste that. … Wasn't that one of our 'first' times?"

"Um hmmm," Sara said.

"_One of their first times?" _Beck thought. He was beginning to formulate a few theories about the couple. He wanted to share them with the "Grissoms" before they started humping each other right then and there. "OK, folks, are we dealing with an uncontrollable sex addiction?"

Both Sara and Grissom straightened up and went in full investigator mode. "What do you mean by addiction, Mr. Beck?" Sara inquired.

"Well, by the way you talk, you both seem to need to fulfill your sexual impulses several times a day and don't seem to care about where or when," Beck said. "Would you say it is affecting your work?"

"No, not at all," Grissom said. "We are known workaholics. Sometimes we don't make love for days or weeks."

"Yes," Sara added. "And I've been away for like four or five months."

"And in that time you were both celibate?" Beck asked.

"Absolutely," Grissom said.

"Well, there are some stories that either one of us might have strayed…," Sara said, in a questioning tone.

"Canon, dear."

"Of course, Gil. You're right," Sara added, with conviction. "We were both celibate."

Beck scratched his head. "I'm sorry… cannon as is cannonball?..."

"Canon — one 'n,'" Grissom said. "As in the truth. There are variations that stray from canon."

"Like you with Catherine, Sophia, Nick, Warrick, Greg…" Sara said teasingly.

"Excuse me," Grissom interrupted. "You have the same people as notches on your un-canoned bedpost, young lady. And you'd have to add Wendy, Mandy … and Brass."

Sara sat with her arms folded across her chest. "Yeah, well, what about that one story about you and Doc Robbins?"

Grissom laughed. "No way. Not even for … 600,000 a go."

"And you and Lady Heather?" Sara said, with her arms crossed.

Grissom sighed. "OK, that might be canon. But remember the story where I thought about you the whole time? I had her put her hair in a ponytail and wear jeans. It was all about you."

"And there are those that aren't all about me." Sara said insistently.

Grissom blushed. "Yeah, there are." Although he tried to hide a smile, he felt Sara's gaze pierce the back of his head. "But what's important is I'm not with Heather." Grissom triumphantly stammered.

"Well, we'll never know if you were ever with her or not, thanks to TPTB," Sara said.

Beck sat tapping a pen on a legal pad. "So are you swingers with several partners?" he asked. "Do these people you share sexual relationships create problems between you and your husband, Sara?"

"Swingers?" Sara said in an incredulous tone. "No. No. No. You're missing the point, Mr. Beck. Those 'other' stories — they're not canon. Gil and I only care of about the canon stuff."

"Unless, the other stuff is really hot," Grissom said under his breath, which wasn't quiet enough.

"Gilbert!"

"Sorry, hon. Of course, just the canon stuff."

"OK," Beck said, trudging along. "So we are talking about fantasies?"

Both looked off in the distance thinking. They then looked at one another and nodded their heads in unison. "Yeah. OK. We're their fantasies," Grissom said.

"You're theirs?" Beck asked. "Grissom, I'm asking if they are _your _fantasies."

"I'm telling you, there's no way I'm sleeping with Al Robbins," Grissom insisted.

"Yeah. We're not interested in other partners," Sara agreed, but then added something softly. "Well, I might just think about Nick with chaps and his porno mustache…"

Upon catching the look of horror on Grissom's face, Sara added, "Oh, please! A second ago you were probably thinking of Catherine and her tight-assed pants."

Grissom's face went from horrorstruck to hand-caught-in-the-cookie jar struck.

"OK, perhaps you are letting some fantasies overtake your sensibilities. And a lot of times that might be a symptom of you looking for more variety in your sex life."

The two broke out in uncontrollable laughter.

"We could tell you about variety," Grissom said. ""Locations, scenarios, positions, techniques … I mean if there's a 'lingus' out there, we've done it."

Sara broke in. "Absolutely. Most of the time, we're not even in the bedroom anymore. Mr. Beck if you knew how many bathtubs we have broken in our relationship, you would get stock in Home Depot," she said. "But what I've loved is when we can be someone or something different, isn't that right, fang boy."

Grissom responded by flashing a toothy grin, which made Sara laugh. She then turned a seductive eye. "And, oh, the positions they put us in. For a man with bad knees, there is constant lifting going on."

"I like the costumes and props," Grissom said. "Who would have thought love could be bottled in a jar?"

"Oh, I love that jar," Sara said.

"And how about your red dress?"

"How about the red creeper?"

"Hmmm, how about the dandelions?" Grissom said.

"I knew that was a dandelion! Oh, dear God, that was amazing," Sara said. "What about the time we were secret agents and you were training me for a certain assignment in which we both had incredible orgasms while on the phone with a hairbrush."

"Yeah," Grissom said, looking off in the distance. "Good times."

"I have to stop you there," Beck said. "I'm confused. You are criminologists, but also secret agents?"

"That's in an AU," Sara said matter-of-factly.

"Australia? Austria?"

"Alternate Universe," Sara said, nonplussed.

Beck stared at them incredulously. "OK. … OK. Let me ask another thing then. You keep mentioning 'stories' and 'them' like someone is telling you what to do sexually. … Are you both into exhibition?"

"Well, no. Nobody watches us," Grissom said. "TPTB make sure of that."

"TPTB?" Beck said. "You're going to have to stop with the acronyms. What is TPTB?"

"We can't tell you that," Grissom said.

"Why not? Is it part of the AU?" Beck said sarcastically. He laughed, hoping his couple would do the same, but they didn't. "OK… so why can't you tell me what TPTB is?"

"Have you every read or seen Harry Potter?" Sara asked.

"Sure," Beck answered.

"He-who-shall-not-be-named? Same concept."

Beck shook his head. "OK, so it sounds like you have issues with TPTB. But you talk like a group of people direct your sex life."

"Well, without those people, we would have no sex life," Sara said, almost desperately. "They continue where TPTB leaves us hanging,"

"OK, fine. You said TPTB makes sure nobody watches you?"

"Absolutely," Grissom said. "All they've seen is a hand on her back, a handhold or two, and a swipe of a tear."

"And don't forget the kiss," Sara said.

"Yes, dear, the goodbye kiss. Bittersweet, to say the least."

"So these, people, … the 'they'… they've never actually _seen _you do anything?"

At this point, Sara began to get agitated. "No, they haven't seen anything. And we are running out of time!" Sara immediately got out of her chair and started pacing and chewing on her thumbnail. "We're running out of time and they… they might just go away."

Grissom offered a sympathetic look, but didn't move. Beck on the other hand was totally confused.

"Sara, calm down," Beck said. "Take a deep breath. Why are you running out of time and who will leave? You husband and your dog?

"No, not them!" Sara exclaimed. "THEM!"

"Them who?" Beck asked.

"THEM! The ones who write about us!"

"Sara, you're not making a lot of sense…"

"Excuse me Mr. Beck," Grissom interrupted as he stood and gathered Sara in her arms. "She's been like this ever since the true contract was revealed."

"Ten. That's it and they … they might leave us. I mean we won't be there for them anymore, so why would they stay?" Sara got out of Grissom's grasp and started the pacing. "We can't lose these people. We… we just can't. Their smut… it's like freakin' crack."

"OK, I'm beginning to understand now," Beck said with much resolve. "Sara, I believe you are addicted to reading and reenacting smut."

"Reading it! I AM IT!" Sara exclaimed. "And addicted? Well Christ! Who wouldn't be?" Sara got right into Beck's face, her eyes full of incomprehensible fire. "You have no idea what it's like? It's … it's …" Sara tried to get the words out. "Do you know how many 'first times' we've had? 9,846! How many people can say that?"

Grissom got up. It was time to try and calm her down. He was… apprehensive. "Sara, hon, maybe it will be OK if it stops. I mean, we can do it without them."

Sara grabbed Grissom forcibly by the lapels. "What do you mean, maybe it's OK if it stops? Are you crazy!"

"But Sara," Grissom said in a slightly strangled voice. "There is a trade off here. I mean there are times the smut is tied with tragic and painful events. Aren't you tired of getting hurt and hospital stays and comas? Cause I sure am."

"Sure we have to go into comas every once in a while but we usually come out of it," Sara said, catching her breath before grabbing the lapels even tighter and causing Grissom's eye's to pop open even wider. "For Christ's sake, Gil, just recently you regained your memory after two months of amnesia. And when did it happen? IMMEDIATELY after we had sex!" Now Sara emphasized each of her words with a pull on Grissom. "That's ... how ... powerful ... our ... sex ... is!"

"But, Sara, I got amnesia after that bike accident."

Sara became indignant. "Oh, so incredible sex with me isn't worth a little fall off your bike?"

"I fell off a cliff after a piece of glass became lodged in my chest."

"Details. Details," Sara said, with a frustrated wave of her hand.

Beck saw an opening to try and help the couple. "Now, Sara, I think Grissom made a valid point. There's no reason you and your husband can't have good sex without the help of smut."

Sara shook her head and chuckled. "Really? Really, Mr. Beck? I don't know."

"Sara, you have to give it a chance," Beck reasoned. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"I believe I could demonstrate my apprehension, Mr. Beck." Ever the scientist, Sara hypothesized an experiment. "Gil, dear, why don't you tell Mr. Beck about the time you fulfilled 'my fantasy' about…" Sara finished her thought by bringing the palm of her hand to her lips.

Grissom immediately blushed. "Oh, you mean…" Grissom giggled and blushed some more. "OK… OK… you see…. After I… well … after I … you know … put my … ummm… thing … in her… hoo ha … and we both… um … well, actually … after I … you know… splashed her love spot with my special man juice… I … ahhh … took out my … thing … and … well, you see there was still … juice … you know … available … so I put it … you know … the love juice … on my hand … and … licked it. … And Sara really liked it."

Both Sara and Beck looked dumbstruck. Sara broke the silence as Grissom continued to blush. "That was good, honey. You didn't snort one time. That's great," Sara said, patting his head. "You see, Mr. Beck, in less authoritative hands, the romantic smut becomes simply creepy. This poor man needs a script! It's that simple. It's not like he's… Billy Petersen or something."

"It's true. The stories help," Grissom said. "But that Viagra stuff was a load of crap."

Beck was rubbing his head. He had no idea how to take this evaluation. This was by far the weirdest preliminary session he had ever had with a couple. He was starting to think he was part of a joke.

"_OF COURSE!" _he thought. _"A reality show!" _ "OK, where are the cameras?" Beck asked with a smile.

Grissom answered without a smile. "At the studio. … Why are you asking about cameras?" He was clearly becoming agitated. "Wait a minute! You can't tell TPTB we're here!" Grissom got up suddenly. "Sara, we've got to get out of here. If they find out I'm here, they might kill me off. I hate character deaths! Unless I've died in paradise."

"They'll never pay for an on-location show!" Sara protested. And with that Grissom nodded and the two ran out of Beck's office, leaving the therapist speechless.

Beck gave out a long sigh and reached for his digital recorder. "I just finished my first session with Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom. I believe a pysch eval is necessary for them both."

Beck paused for a moment to gather more thoughts. "They won't admit it, but I believe there is some sort of sex obsession in which they believe they MUST perform for a certain group of people who enjoy playing with them."

"While I think it's important to identify these 'them,' I'm really curious about what is TPTB. The acronym seems cryptic, I wouldn't know how to interpret it," Beck paused for a moment and thought. "Perhaps, "Tactless, Pathetic, Terrifying Baboons?"

THE END?

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A/N: Oh, thank God some of you are here. I've had this in my head for a while, and I don't know if it worked. Did you recognize some references? Well, if you need help figuring some out, let me know. Also, if you have better words for TPTB, I'd love to hear it too. Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it!


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